


My Reason

by NightReaderEnigma



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon - Book, Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Feelings, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, POV Brienne of Tarth, POV Jaime Lannister, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Post-Canon, Romance, Sexual Content, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23359774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightReaderEnigma/pseuds/NightReaderEnigma
Summary: Often his thoughts strayed to her, when the darkness broiled up from the cesspool where his conscience ought to have dwelt.  For some unfathomable reason her presence beckoned to him through his bleakest moments, like a beacon on a distant shore.  An oasis in the tempest, an island out of reach, with him a drowning man amidst the turbulent inky waters.+++++In the wake of their run in with Lady Stoneheart and the Brotherhood, Jaime and Brienne both undertake introspection, uncovering their deepest hidden feelings and revealing who and what they really want for their future...
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 84
Kudos: 178





	1. His Reason

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little multi-chapter I have been working on. I wanted to explore the fallout from Brienne's fib to lure Jaime towards Lady Stoneheart. Jaime's reaction to her deception and her guilt over lying to him, are two concepts I haven't played with before. It starts out a little angsty but as everyone knows by now, I always want these two together in the end. You can trust me! :) 
> 
> It is fully written but I will release the chapters with some space in between. Hopefully it can provide some escapism in these crazy times, allowing us to immerse ourselves in Jaime & Brienne's world. <3
> 
> I would like to give a shout out to my dear friend - ilikeblue.  
> I promised you I would post a fic as a distraction - voila! LOL :)

Jaime walked the halls in his Kingsguard whites, reminiscing about a younger version of himself whose footsteps he followed. 

Over half his life had been spent in this Keep, outside these doors. Standing, guarding, repeating, never amounting. They proclaimed this position was the highest honour, never a more fulfilling role than ensuring the safety of the King. But it sure as fuck had never given this Knight any sense of satisfaction. 

He could be glad for small mercies; the current reigning monarch was his boy – Tommen - and that tiny technicality was enough to bolster his dedication. 

_But still….._

The first King he guarded was Aerys, the mad butcher whom he slew, spilling his own honour along with the royal blood. Even if he was now a man tarnished, he could not bring himself to regret – the only actions he genuinely rued being the years he spent actually protecting the abhorrent psychopath. 

Then Robert – how Jaime had loathed him. 

Being avowed to shield the very brute who wed his twin and personified everything Jaime stood against, a cruel twist of fate which he was certain the Gods had orchestrated as an elaborate punishment. 

Finally Joffrey – his own abomination. A demon unleashed of his very seed. 

A walking, snarling, inescapable personification of his sin. Until he too perished, taking his sadistic nature along with him and try as he might Jaime could not bring himself to mourn the loss of his son. 

_Perhaps that was the final sign, that I have finally descended to the very pitted depths of my soul where feeling becomes numb and I am devoid of any human empathy…._

He had pushed a young boy out a tower window afterall. He surely couldn’t sink any lower than that act. Self-esteem could only extend so far - when the opinion of an entire continent would attest that Jaime Lannister had no redeeming qualities.

_Maybe bar one…._

Often his thoughts strayed to her, when the darkness broiled up from the cesspool where his conscience ought to have dwelt. For some unfathomable reason her presence beckoned to him through his bleakest moments, like a beacon on a distant shore. An oasis in the tempest, an island out of reach, with him a drowning man amidst the turbulent inky waters. 

Perhaps it was because she carried his sole chance of proving himself. Mayhaps it was because shielding her from degradation and ruination had been one of his finest acts. She the sole witness, Brienne the lone believer. 

He had purged his soul to her at Harrenhal, swathed in steam and stripped of strength. Laid bare at the mercy of this Maiden’s altar, as she judged, weighing fact against fiction. Jaime had always assumed that credence was beyond him, the scathing expression of Eddard Stark seared into his psyche. Why speak when it will only be disregarded as falsehood? 

Guilty by name and circumstance. Honour of intention hearsay, his word against the macabre sight of a monarch’s corpse. Slit from ear to ear, gaping gore and oozing lifesblood. A stab wound in the back, congealing and compounding the shame. 

But the wench had listened. Absorbing his words and pent up emotion. The way she had cradled his limp body and cared for him still bewildered. The gentleness of the giantess almost irreconcilable. 

Though maybe that was it – she was tender when all edges and appearances would have her mistaken as rough. A secret known to none but him. 

If she guarded these contrasts within herself, accepting the dualities of his nature would not seem such a stretch. If she could be soft - then the Kingslayer, Oathbreaker, shit for honour, sisterfucker – could simply be misunderstood. Worthy of reparation and a second chance. Willing to let her opinions by swayed by his sincerity and wrenching confession.

_Though that was before…. When by some miracle the villainy in my blood was dampened by her waters. Before my temper ignited and my indignance got the better of me._

_Why must I always destroy?_

_The one person to whom I had merit, the approval which I clung to with such vehemence. Why could I not acknowledge how much that meant? Was it really so degrading to desire her respect? Instead I had to cut her down with words… reduce her to my level._

_For what? A minor infringement, a twist of the truth spawned by desperation. I should have known from the instant I clapped eyes upon her again that something was wrong. Stupid, narrow sighted, man that I am. She wouldn’t even had been in that situation if it wasn’t for me….._

The memory played out as clear as if it were yesterday. The pair of them standing amongst the barren trees, the arrival of winter stripping the branches of their foliage. The smoke rising in the distance from the smouldering ashes of the undead woman’s corpse, what was left of her followers dispersed far and wide or lying lifeless beside her. Awaiting their cremation in the flames. 

Brienne had stared at him, shaken and pale. Her blue spheres haunted and lost. “I’m sorry Ser Jaime. It was not my intention to lie… They were going to hang Pod and they wouldn’t listen to the truth.” 

He had snorted derisively, self-contempt dripping acid from his tongue. “Of course they didn’t foolish Wench. When has anyone been willing to hear defence for the ‘oh so rotten’ Kingslayer.” Moving inches from her face his lip curled into a sneer. “They judge. They look down upon me and weigh me by my actions. I have no one on whom I can rely.”

“You have me Ser Jaime. I have faith in you…”

“You?” He tilted his head to the side, his green eyes a fury. Jaime desperately wanted to disregard his reaction as pure anger but the bite to his words was fuelled by hurt. 

_Another betrayal…._ “You lured me into a trap, with falsehoods. You played on my trust and stabbed me in the back. You are just like everyone else.” 

“And I’ve apologised!” Tears began to brim in the wells of azure. “I was willing to hang for you. If it weren’t for my squire, I would have. But he’s an innocent boy. It was not my decision to make.”

“Although I am not at all surprised that you would value another’s life above mine, it does not excuse your actions. You lied to my face!” 

“I had no choice – you had to come.”

“Did you consider telling me the truth?” Now his voice was low, deathly silence permeating the air as he waited for her response. 

“I couldn’t risk you not accompanying me.”

“There it is. The instant assumption that if I knew the truth, I would gladly have let the Squire hang. No true knight would, but I am not a true knight Brienne, am I? What was it? Monster?” 

“I don’t see you that way anymore.” A single droplet fell from her lashes, soaking the bandage of her ruined cheek. She hastily looked away to hide the weakness but he saw it nonetheless. At the time his temper had been an inferno, one which burnt so white hot it would take more than a salt tear to quench. Now he looked back on his relentless wrath as yet another shame to add to his list of misdeeds. 

“Then why lie?” He had growled, pushing her for answers. The tall woman standing before him the one creature he thought beyond corruption. Moral, honest and good. But she had deceived him, like Cersei before her and he needed to know what it was that made the women in his life deem him undeserving of their integrity. 

He watched her walls of steel construct before him, reinforcing themselves so she could deliver her response. Squaring her shoulders and sniffing back the emotion, her voice was the only thing that remained soft. 

“How presumptuous do you think I am Ser? To think that you would abandon your duty and aid me at my word alone. Walk into danger by my side to fight my battles, defend my Squire. Putting yourself at risk. Why would I assume you would follow me? I am disposable, I am nothing to you. Only a vessel through which your vow continues. If I didn’t contrive a falsehood and make it about our oath, you had no reason to come.”

With that she had unbuckled her swordbelt, gathering the leather and sheath in her hand and offering it to him, the rubies glistening in the lion’s head. 

“Lady Stoneheart’s death saw the disintegration of my fealty to Lady Catelyn. She demanded of me a task which has brought dishonour, henceforth both our promises to her are forfeit.” A wobble of her chin was the only outward manifestation of her distress. “Take it back. The blade belongs to you Ser Jaime. I was merely its caretaker and now its purpose is moot.”

The lion found himself once again humbled in her presence, her humility and generosity beyond reproach. 

“It’s yours.” He shook his head, refusing to take it from her. 

“I am a Tarth Ser. This pommel is bedecked by the sigil of Lannister. And following the developments of this afternoon we have no further reason to continue our association with each other.” She propped the sword up against the trunk of a tree, balancing it against the bark. “I thank you for entrusting it to me for my journey but now I must be on my way.” 

Without a backward glance she had mounted her horse, bundling the reins in trembling hands. Then a whisper out of the blue in a voice so small and feminine he could scarce believe it fell from her lips. A fleeting glimpse into the fragility which she hid behind mail and resolve. 

“I’m sorry I failed you My Lord.”

So shocked was he, his mouth fell open, wordlessly gaping. His feet stepping forward unbidden to cross the distance and build bridges between them. Mending their rift. 

But she had kicked her horse into a gallop and ridden from his life. 

Scuffing at the floorboards, he leant back against the doorframe. The weight of his armour did not drag upon him even half as much as the memory. 

He didn’t realise how much he rejoiced in thoughts of her until they turned sour. How he kept her image guarded closely by his heart. Perhaps he should have suspected – for her he had given without question. Risked and gambled life and limb – _or right hand –_ to keep her safe in his care. Jaime could chuckle at his own hypocrisy, how he could dare to reproach Brienne for being a liar, the criticism so ironic it twisted his gut. 

He had always considered himself upfront for the most part. Candid and frank. But he had deceived all when it came to the Maid of Tarth. 

Cersei, Brienne, Tywin, Loras, Tyrion – most poignant of all himself.

The Lion of Lannister had been lying to protect her since the beginning. Whether making grandiose claims of sapphires or neglecting to mention his re-gifting of the Valyrian blade. Biting his tongue instead of revealing how he lost his hand, omitting facts and details which he was determined his family could never understand. 

This was only a pattern he entered when he considered something sacred. A treasure to be kept for him and him alone. A secret to replay in his mind at night, keeping him entertained and comforted, holding the shadows at bay. 

In her he had found a reason to persevere and his tormented soul mourned the loss, the self-hatred flowing like viscous acid in his system. 

_Of all the things I’ve cost myself, none have hurt worse than the loss of Brienne._

Now he felt only a husk, an empty shell. Devoid of purpose and drive. A vacant vessel suited to nothing more than standing like a spiritless puppet. 

His left hand caressed Oathkeeper, now worn on his hip instead of hers. As close to Brienne through this inanimate object as he may ever come to be again. Pining for her, missing what they had and even moreso – what they could have become.

_Yet still…._

An echo resounded from his depths. Bouncing off the walls of his dispassionate prison of flesh. Urging him towards one last vow –

_If I ever see her again, I will make it right._

_If I have another chance - which would be one more than any man deserves - this time, I will never let her go._


	2. Her Reason

Brienne grimaced and sucked in a sharp intake of air, registering the abhorrent sight of her own reflection in the pool. The gnarled raw flesh of her mangled cheek, pulling and twisting in all manner of unnatural angles. 

  
It was not that she had ever been conceited - she reviled her own image, long resigned to the curse which was her mulish face, the burden she must carry throughout her life. How she had offended the Gods thus to deserve such an affliction she supposed she would never know. Nonetheless the brutal reality of her now even more heinous features hurt in a way she earnestly wished she was strong enough to deny.   
  
People seemed to dispel even general courtesies when your appearance was less than comely. Somehow reduced by visual alone to be a second-rate citizen, unworthy of consideration or politeness. Creature was she. Ugly and large. And a scarred hulking beast had no right to feelings. She deserved to hear their scornful remarks - after all she must pay for her inconsiderate ways, how dare she cross their path, make them have to suffer her offensive appearance within their line of vision.   
  
This latest atrocity only reinforced their beliefs... Now she was so unsightly she could turn a cow from producing milk or prompt little children to cry. Surely she would feature as the demon in their night terrors, the half-eaten one, disfigured and repugnant.   
  
She splashed her face, shattering the brutal image and swiping away the sting of salt tears. They did not care if she was only young herself with a maiden’s heart, overflowing with good intentions...

**_No._**

She chastised herself for the weakness, her inner strength one of the few qualities about herself in which she still had faith. She would not squander her life lamenting the things she could not alter. If people solely wished to see her as the abomination, that is all she would ever be to them... And no amount of snivelling was going to change that.

Sinking into the Riverbank, she threw back her head, contemplating the great expanse of the sky. For weeks now she had staved off the misery. Self-pity creeping in and cracking her fortress of iron. Brienne knew she could shoulder her hideous physicality – if only her achievements spoke to her merit. But instead she had fallen short on her ideals as well. 

_I let him down. The one person who believed in me. Who didn’t underestimate me. Who charged me with his honour…._

As was her usual coping mechanism, she quickly diverted her thought pattern. Forcing herself to think of the other lives affected by their run in with the Brotherhood. 

Ser Hyle, swinging black-faced from a low bough outside the cave, having incited anger in the wraith woman with careless words. It did not come as a surprise; he had never been measured of speech or considerate of action. He was hanged just before she departed to find Ser Jaime.

Under her guise of a leal and obedient sword to Lady Stoneheart, she had enquired what particular foolishness had cost the man his life. Thoros of Myr had provided her an explanation; Ser Hyle had mistakenly made mention during questioning that he sought Lady Sansa, with particular reference to the generous reward which rested upon her delivery to the Queen.

Brienne had solemnly shaken her head, long suspecting Hyle’s true motives; both for herself and the missing maiden. In the end his ignorance had cost him dearly, confessing to the girl’s Mother by thinking it incentive or bribe. 

_His arrogance was his undoing, his deceit the final rock upon his cairn._

The Lady of Tarth had long taken stock of the undead woman’s motivations - a rampaging corpse had no need of coin or friendship - only vengeance paid in strangled throats and burns of rope. That lesson was hammered home when she had seen Podrick flailing in the noose, struggling for breath. 

_Sword._

Once she had loved that word. It had brought her hope and power. With a blade in her hand she could determine her own destiny, defend herself from enemies, alter the course of fate. But this time 'sword' had brought her an ultimatum. Jaime or Podrick; her saviour or her squire. 

The Maid of Tarth could not cry and faint the way most damsels would, deflecting tough decisions and hoping for a rescuer. Instead the outcome fell solely upon her shoulders and in a panic she had screamed for the weapon, the sight of her young follower dying without just cause too much for her conscience to take. 

As it were, they kept him hostage, as assurance of her loyalty. Gasping for air, Brienne had pleaded for his release, wanting him safe from harm and to receive proper care. But they had simply thrust the leather scabbard back into her oversized hands. 

“Bring us Lannister, Kingslayer’s Whore.” The one they called Lem had sneered. “There will be no third chances.”

Running her hands through her lank hair, she valiantly staved off the pangs of loneliness. Upon her successful return to the cave with the Kingslayer in toe, Podrick had been allowed to leave, escorted by one of the men to a local Wood’s Witch for healing. She had been relieved he would not have to bear witness to the carnage which ensued and could comfort herself with the knowledge that regardless of how it all played out, he at least was safe. 

After her terse parting with Ser Jaime, she had sought the old woman, fearing vengeance from the few members who had escaped their violent overthrow. Collecting the boy, she had set out riding with him half-sitting, half slung over the front of her saddle. 

To this day she was confident leaving him at the Quiet Isle had been the correct decision but his recovery would be long and the Brothers had kindly asked her to move on. Since then she had been nomadic – ostracised, isolated and without purpose. Her only company her haunting visions and heavy heart. 

Her whole life Brienne had known the simple truths of existence. Lessons which came hard learnt and most of the children of summer were spared their unvarnished morals. 

But not the Maid of Tarth; she had been exposed to these reality checks from a young age, schooled in them by her Septa. The older woman berating them into her with an unflinching coldness. 

When she was a girl she had hoped her minder represented the worst of humankind and instead she would find a kinder place awaiting her beyond the gates of Evenfall. That too had been an idealistic dream and she soon woke to discover that her Septa was just the tip of the iceberg. 

One of those enlightenments in particular seemed especially prominent now. It’s sad but true presence her sole companion as she walked this solitary path. 

_'Physical injury heals - bones mend, flesh knits, sprains and strains ease – but emotional scars mark you. They bury themselves inside, like a splinter housed deep within your flesh, forcing you to carry them throughout your journey. Try as you might, you cannot escape them. Not even when you lay your head upon your pillow.'_

Every evening, Jaime’s eyes tormented her. The inevitability of reliving the hurt and insult within their emerald glare becoming a part of her nightly ritual. When fatigue finally became undeniable, she would settle herself upon the cold hard ground. Tossing and turning in the exposed wintry air, constantly fearful of whom may be lurking in the woods, watching her every move and waiting for her guard to be lowered. Always prepared, she rested within her suit of armour, clutching her castle-forged steel to her chest and ignoring the irrational pangs that came from missing Oathkeeper’s lion’s head pommel. How she had stroked its mane to soothe herself, it’s ruby eyes familiar and comforting in the moonlight. 

_Why did I give it away?_

_Do not be an immature child._ She rebuked herself again, annoyed at her attachment to a piece of steel. Severing herself from the greater reason why the sword had meant so much. _The blade was not yours – and neither was he._

There it was. The crux of her heartbreak. The essence of her woe. 

_When did I come to love Jaime Lannister?_

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, attempting to stem the flow of tears. For the second time she had failed the person she loved. 

She hadn’t managed to protect Renly from the shadow, his life sliced away to ribbons before her very eyes. 

And she did not succeed in restoring Jaime’s honour, in helping the world to see him as the true Knight that he embodied. 

_No, instead you betrayed his trust and lead him into a trap. Did you truly expect he would forgive you?_

Perhaps she did. Perhaps she was so innocent and naïve that she thought she could explain it away. Make him understand that she had no other option. Mayhaps her hue was tainted with love, transferring her own unconditional affections onto him. For if the roles were reversed, she would absolve him in a heartbeat. Tell him that she understood. Wrap her arms around his neck and declare that she was here for him come what may….

But that was in an imaginary world. Where she possessed Jaime’s confidence, backed by his swagger and good looks. If she were as beautiful and godlike as that man, she too could make a maiden swoon and gift to him her all. Trample upon the trust they’d built and expect it to be overlooked. But the same could not be said for grotesques. They should be grateful for company alone, lest they end up sitting upon a riverbank with only the reeds and rocks to hear their sobs.

_I rode away…. my foolish pride. He gave me a purpose, he gave me credibility, he gave me hope. And what did I give him in return? His sword returned as though it meant nothing and the sight of my back receding amongst the trees..._

But tonight she would see him again, in the world which dwelt beneath closed eyelids. 

In this realm she would fall to her knees, beg forgiveness, swear him her sword and declare her all-dying devotion. In his service she would offer him anything he required, her ears to listen, her shoulder to lean upon, her body to comfort him at night. Her vows would be imbued by love and never again would any woman, living or dead drive a wedge between her and the lion Lord to whom she owed her happiness. 

_There is only one thing separating fantasy from reality – your willingness to make it happen._

She lifted her head and stared into the wilderness, contemplating that errant concept. Brienne was a free woman, a lady in her own right. She had the option now to go where she pleased and seek her own destiny. If seeing Jaime Lannister again was what she craved, then the only thing that stood in the way was miles of open road. 

_He will not want to see me…._

A thousand scenarios flashed through her mind, each one ending with her folded over, shaking violently as her body was wracked with tears. 

But she was crying now – would she really be worse off? 

The Maid of Tarth had always been courageous, she had weathered many storms and hurts. Rejection flowed through her veins, mingling with her blood. If anyone was equipped to handle a negative outcome - it was she. 

The possibility of him accepting at least her apology or her sword was tempting her to take the risk. The chance to be allowed to walk by his side once more enough to quell the emptiness which yawned within like a cavernous void whenever she realised she had seen his handsome face for the last time.

Dusting off her breeches, she pushed herself up. Striding with renewed resolve over to her grazing mount. Vaulting into the saddle, she turned its head with purpose. 

Her course was set. Her destination King’s Landing. 


	3. Their Reason

The Lord Commander’s Quarters were a lonely sort of place, the White Sword Tower a solitary sentinel, the building eternally echoing the resolute vow of celibacy of its inhabitants. 

But what was easy for bricks and mortar was less so for a man. One who had his spirit gradually gnawed away by fiends throughout the day and night. 

Every evening he would sit amidst the emptiness and echoes. Peering at the Book of Brothers sitting proudly upon its podium. Its forbidding presence forming part of his penitence, haunting him through gilded pages and bound spine. An ode to greatness, a legacy for the ages … and his page a paragraph long lamentation on the Knight he could have been. 

Then he would retire into his bland white chamber, close his eyes and sleep another chunk of his existence away. Repetitive and pointless. 

Eventually he had requested to be moved, tired of being stalked by the phantoms of his predecessors. Harried throughout the small hours by the footsteps of his betters, walking the halls of greatness, clomping across the floorboards to loom over his bed. Shaking their heads at the undeserving who sought to slumber in their domain. 

Fatigued and beleaguered, he had bent the rules once more, moving his living to elsewhere in the Red Keep. 

_To be closer to the King…._

Now the Tower watched him from afar, its windowed eyes still judging. The apparitions contained within its bounds, but none the less censorious. Each sunset he would draw his curtains, shuttering out their critical glare. 

_Let them condemn me, they can do so no more than I do to myself. Those bleak quarters were infested by memories. The walls they saw too much…._

He cringed to recall how Cersei had visited him there once, attempting to seduce him and insulting his manhood with his subsequent refusal. 

_You would think I would find some pride in my scrupulous resolve – the first time in my life I knocked her back. But the ignominy had already worked its way in, her very presence there - trying to entice my cock - a testament to years of wrongdoing._

Once he had craved satisfaction alone, his brief encounters with Cersei enough to sate the lustful cravings of the flesh; but as he aged and acknowledged the hollow emptiness of those liaisons even their memory lost their lustrous glint. 

The lion now craved meaningful connection, the type of chemistry which a disjointed vacant such as he would be denied in perpetuity. 

_Be careful what you desire in your youth, what worthless wishes you squander your ambition upon. For years later you find yourself fortune’s fool, pyrrhic and regretful, when even dreams of what could have been are so far out of reach they hurt to contemplate._

Jaime clutched his untouched wine cup, the embrace which he sought could not be found at the bottom of a flagon. Nor in the spiritless shadows which danced upon the walls. They were his only company, mockingly joyous as they twirled and flitted. Imitating lovers in a lively jig. 

_Another illusion, movement mimicking life – enough to chide a man into believing there is more to this room than remorse and rancour._

Not for the first time, Jaime hung his head. Shame one of the few remaining emotions which reminded him he still could feel. 

_But no transgression will ever torment me as much as the Wench’s eyes, reflecting the wound I inflicted upon her pure soul…._

Given his time over, that was the crime he would reverse. Not sparing a boy from a fall, nor threatening a Father with a trebuchet. Not years of incest or killing a king. Although his self-hatred for those misdeeds ran deep, it was his affection for her which spoke loudest. Wanting to remove the scars he had gouged in her noble essence. 

Another invisible anvil descended upon his shoulders, a further vice clamping around his chest with a metallic clang. 

_Best I be away from her, she is better off far from me. I only know how to hurt…._

“My Lord…” The knocking of his door was a deviation in routine. The Lion of Lannister frowned and opened his eyes. Calling out instead of rising. 

“Yes?” 

“There is a traveller to see you. An audience was requested with yourself immediately.” 

“With me?” That seemed unlikely. “Are you sure whomever does not seek the Hand or Regent? Check back and inform them that no meetings will take place this evening. All have retired and whatever it is regarding shall keep until tomorrow.”

The servant stuttered beyond the wood, nerves making their voice stammer. “I…I have questioned My Lord. It was you that was asked for by name. I’m afraid she was quite insistent.”

“She?” Jaime sat up straight in his chair, almost spilling his wine. 

_It is too much to hope for._

Yet still there it was, the sizzle of anticipation in his heart. Waking up his lethargic form like a bear from hibernation. 

_A bear… and my Maiden…_

“Did she give a name?”

“No, My Lord. Though her speech is that of a noble lady. She would not give me much information Ser, she is not the talkative type, only – well she is quite stubborn.” 

“Send her in.” Heat spewed forth from his pores, baking lava flows in his veins like the fissures that opened during the Doom of Valyria. Enough to melt a dragon in mid-flight. 

_Could it be?_

After a pause that spanned forever the door clicked open. 

The first thing he glimpsed was a leather knee high boot. Or more accurately a boot that would have been knee high on a woman who was shorter. On her it only reached her calves. Muscular thighs wrapped in supple suede gave way to a navy undershirt, its hem escaping from beneath her laced leather vest. The sleeves of blue ended too soon, exposing her awkwardly long arms and freckle dusted hands. A dismal excuse for a sword was slung from her belt, inciting a pang of guilt that Oathkeeper – their blade – was ensconced in the stand by the hearth. 

_It should be on her hip – as should my hands…._

The thought came as easily to him as breathing. The notion that he wanted her, needed her, loved her. That without her, he was a dormant lump of clay. 

_Mould me, shape me, rework me into a thing of substance. I am the raw medium, pliant to your kneading._

_My Lady I have erred – but grant me the serenity of succour at your shrine. I will worship daily if you allow…._

Tentatively she pushed the door shut, moving in slow motion as she exhaled, turning and leaning her back against the frame. She fixed him with her heavy blue gaze, stern of countenance but somehow assuaged, taking him in from toe to head. 

Brienne of Tarth – his antagonist, his inspiration, the wind in his sails and optimism in his heart. Hers alone was the spark that rekindled his inferno, the one who could stir black coals to flame. 

For a stretch they were as statues, a living artwork entitled ‘longing’. The sculptor chiselling their likenesses so near yet miles apart. 

Jaime cleared his throat, loosening the blockage formed by intense emotion. “I thought you never wanted to see me again.” 

“Evidently not.” 

More silence. 

Two individuals were snared by insecurity and self-loathing, their demons dragging them away from their potential happiness like snarling hell-hounds. Fangs sunk deep into their shirttails, making the five steps between them appear insurmountable. 

“You wished to speak with me?”

“I did.” She looked to the carpet, the floorboards, the rug. Everywhere but at him. “I never presumed you would grant me audience – so I have nothing prepared. In each instance I visualised, this is as far as I got.” 

Innocent and unassuming, her unwavering warden was doubt. Jiggling his jailor’s keys and convincing her that Jaime Lannister had wanted nothing more from her than vindication and now with her purpose served he would rid himself of the nuisance which was her. 

“Come here.” Placing the goblet aside, he beckoned with a shaking hand. At the end of his other arm, his stump peeped from the sleeve of his linen nightshirt, the golden prosthetic tucked away for the evening. 

_I have no cover from you wench, before you now is the cripple laid bare. The lion with his blunted claws retracted, lame and vulnerable, his missing paw in plain sight._

_I mean no harm to you._

She obliged as requested, placing one determined foot in front of another. Stopping short halfway across the room, infuriatingly beyond his grasp. 

“I have come far enough.” Her physical form quavered, uncertainty clouding the skies of her eyes. Moisture forming at the corners, rainfall but a breath away. “You come to me.”

“Be careful what you ask for….” Jaime uncrossed his corded legs, moving still with the agile grace of a big cat as he alighted from the chair. “I may come too close for your comfort.” A single stride. “Breach those mighty walls of ice and stone…” He was in front of her now, head angled slightly upwards. A mortal before a divine effigy of the Maiden made flesh. “… and then you will never be rid of me.” 

“Who says I wish to be freed of you?” It was no more than a meek whisper, her usual courage spirited away when navigating unchartered waters. 

“Why would you not? I am hateful, I am sin and I am soiled. I want to offer you a thousand apologies but my word is worth less than the air it would take to make them. Shit can only melt into the ground and hope one day to fertilise the earth. That is what I amount to – excrement. And eventually my miserable form can feed the worms and at least have been of some benefit to the world.”

“Don’t say that.” Brienne bit her lip, he had a prime view of the motion from his eyeline. Envy at her own gesture surging inside him as he, smirched as he was, wanted to be the one upon her mouth. “It is I who failed you.” 

“What?” He spluttered at how preposterous the notion was.

“I did. I promised to help you keep your vows and instead I betrayed you.” Her chin wobbled as her crooked teeth bit deeper, splitting her pink fullness in a trickle of crimson which fascinated his warrior’s appetites. “I came to offer you my sword and service in recompense.”

“I don’t want your sword.” His tone was gravelly as he fought the notion to lick the blood away. “I don’t want your subservience. Or your allegiance with another precious oath. Have you not learnt that they mean little to me? I am a man cursed, destined only to break my vows, to turn my cloak more oft than a sellsword. Do not pledge your honourable self to me upon those terms. It would only tarnish you. Once you declared you would never serve me and that statement was made in far more level-headed guidance than this sudden onset of foolishness.”

His words stung, he saw it. The rejection she perceived in his refusal shattering her intentions as her head drooped. The tell-tale sniffle of suppressing a sob. He brought his hand to her cheek, angling her face towards him, directing those endless pools of goodness and purity to assess his disgraced self. 

“I do however – want your heart.” His vision of her blurred with the admission. “The way all dark beasts do. Thriving off the light to which we are drawn, alive only in the radius of your warmth.” Jaime dragged a thumb along her jaw, travelling in an upwards arc, toying with the split she had furrowed into her lip. Exploring the lengths of her large mouth with the tenderness of a lover. “I know it is selfish. To wish to command the devotion of your soul. To seek to claim that of which I am unworthy. But I am a wretched rogue and although I know it would be debasement of your character to be coupled with such as I – loving you is the last emotion which causes stirrings in my blackened chest.” He smiled weakly. “You may take your sword ‘Oathkeeper’ and go – leave this room with your moral impunity intact and knowing you are faultless in our dealings. Or you can stay – wallow in the muck and mire that is I. But know from the second you linger I will take it as proof that you reciprocate my feelings and I will not be held accountable for what I do next.”

He removed his impertinent hand from her lips. Battling his urge to taste them just once lest she personify the logical wench he knew so well and flee his floundering seduction. With legs of lead he returned to his chair, resting his hands upon both knees and watching her decision with sad eyes. 

_I made my entreaty at her altar, I gave her only truth. There is nothing left I can do…_

Brienne looked about the room, spotting Oathkeeper nestled by the fire. With certitude she approached its scabbard, drawing the blade out slightly so it glinted in the orange glow. Running her elongated index finger across the lion’s mane. 

_Now is when she leaves me, this time forever…_

Then she let it slip from her grasp. Clanging back into its holder. Wheeling and closing the distance between them in a fluid flurry of steps. 

Just beyond his knee a Maiden hesitated, shy and reserved. Mouth slightly parted as she panted, a doe in the lion’s lair. Her eyes wide and pleading – not to be excused to take her leave. But for a different kind of release – one he could relate to.

Seizing her arm he pulled her to him, Brienne crashing upon his lap in her customary muddle of gawky limbs. She folded and unfolded her legs beneath her, trying to get arranged but Jaime would give her not a moment’s respite as he lunged for her lips, snatching them between his own. 

Her reciprocation was awkward and flustered, inexperience inhibiting her reaction and his hand gripped the back of her head to guide her into him, their noses bumping together and producing from her a whimper of mortification and want. 

“Relax Sweetling.” Jaime crooned, coaxing her lips apart with his tongue. Placing her fidgeting hands upon his shoulder and around his neck. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

_Sweet virtue – she is solely mine._

Her blush was enough to make him want to ravish her. Carry her to his bed and show her just what to do to give them both their deliverance from this building desire years in the making. 

_But for her alone I am a good man, patient and devout. I will not corrupt her with reckless abandon, chasing my pleasure. I have waited years for my true mate… this needs to be savoured._

“I will teach you.” He nipped gently at her ear, his breath tickling her neck and making her shiver. “I will be your mentor - but you are in charge. I worship my Maid.” 

He nuzzled into the juncture of her shoulder and she smiled. “If we are both to be high minded, I wager we will not get very far.” 

The lion grinned against her skin. “And where do you wish us to get Wench?”

“Wherever will cure this ache in my core.”

At this he growled, sucking at the skin of her clavicle, making her arch against him. He skilfully manipulated her long legs to land on either side of his thighs, encouraging her to sit astride. 

“Your instincts are on point.” He praised, lavishing his way up the pillar of her neck. Sampling freckles for the first time in his life. “It’s like riding a horse.” 

“But I’m an unbroken mount.” Jaime could tell she wanted to please him, her nails abrading against the fabric of his shirt as her fingers curled. Thrillingly responsive to even the slightest scrape of his beard. “I am content for you to take the reins.”

He drew back, tilting his head to the side, the frisson flaring between their faces sending static across his skin. “When have you ever been so biddable?” 

“I think this situation calls for it.” 

“No –“ He lifted her long index finger to his mouth, drawing it in and supping upon it, his teeth grazing the pad and demonstrating to her how gratification could be derived from even the most innocuous gesture. Her breath hitched with delight and he grinned around her digit. Withdrawing it with agonising sensuality and kissing his way down her palm. “-this My Lady calls for boldness, daring. The likes which can reassure a knight hell-bent upon redemption that he is not debauching a simpering flower, who will wilt in the morning and fly from my bed quicker than petals on the wind.” His expression changed to serious, the sincerity of his next assertion unequivocal. “I love you – I could not withstand if I were to be something you regret come break of day.” 

“How could I possibly?” She framed his face in her hands and kissed him. “You are the reason I came here.”

He did the same in return, cringing as his stump met her cheek instead of his hand. But she nosed towards it lovingly, lipping gently at the scar and furrowed flesh. 

In that gesture alone he fell apart, disintegrating into a million infinitesimal pieces and reassembling anew. A kaleidoscopic rearrangement shaping him into her man. Loyally, irreversibly, limitlessly. He was hers until the end of time. “And you are my reason for everything.”

Brienne’s shaking hands found her criss-cross laces, unthreading the woven ties which bound her, letting her vest fall open as she repeated the actions with her undershirt, unveiling to him her meagre buds. Her ribcage rose and fell rapidly, the small swell of her captivating bust moving in time with her ragged breath. He kissed her disfigured cheek, giving it the same reverence as she had his deformity. His single hand roamed her front, parting the fabric further and skimming her untouched flesh, stroking his thumb across her pert pink nipple, both their bodies reacting to his explorations.

“Jaime…” She rocked against his eagerness, feeling him harden beneath her and he bit his inside cheek to stop himself from remarking upon her latent talents. Greedily his lips travelled beneath her chin and down her neck, to the dip of her collarbone and the valley between her breasts. His stumped arm holding her fast in place, nestling into the curve of her spine as she thrust her teats intuitively towards his waiting mouth. 

She moaned as he suckled. Sonorous and wanton. Somewhere between a battle-cry and ecstasy. “You nurture me my sweetling.” He travelled across her sternum keen to pay homage to both her small bosoms in equal regard. His tones humming against her impeccable flesh. “Without you I cannot flourish. I wither and fade.” One of her hands was knitted in his hair, the other clawing the shirt from his back. 

“I will never forsake you.” She promised. “Where you are I will be.” 

He let her relieve him of his shirt and they simultaneously reached for each other’s laces. The smiles they exchanged cheeky and prurient, recognising the dire need in the other. 

“To bed my Wench.” He tapped her thigh. “To beneath the covers and sealing our destiny through joining and becoming one.” 

“You can take heed Ser Jaime.” Her nose grazed his ear. “That for once I will not argue.”

* * *

The rapture of her tightness was beyond all comparison, the squeeze of her thighs and insides determined to make him come undone. He listened to her mewls and moans adjusting his rhythm to her favour, each roll of his hips sending him over a brink of blissful agony. 

  
“Jaime-“ she panted, pushed to her limit. “Is it meant to be this good? Is it natural...? My Septa never told me...”  
She cried out an indecipherable exclamation, shuddering with another wave of pleasure. 

  
“Yes and no my sweet.” He kissed her tenderly. Holding on by a thread.

  
He pressed his perspiring forehead to hers, feeling it crease from confusion and concern at his answer. Blue with black dilated pupils staring into his emeralds glowing with ardent flame.

  
“Yes - it is meant to be good my darling. But not as exquisite as this.” His voice was staccato as he forced the words to form through snatched air. “Never before anything like this.”  
“Never?” She gasped. Hope and disbelief infringing upon her voice even now.

  
“Never.”

* * *

  
  
She had gone to the blessed lands though somehow the gates had opened for the living. A timorous ugly maid in love from afar with her lion Lord replaced by a woman, sated and secure.

Brienne stretched in his tangled cotton sheets. Disturbed from decadent slumber by sunlight refracting from the cracks in the drapes. Way beyond her usual rising hour by its brightness. 

Reaching for his empty pillow, she drew it towards her, permitting herself a further indulgence by burying her nose in its centre and inhaling his scent. Masculine and sumptuous. Rich and arousing. 

She did not fret at his absence, she had felt his lips as the night took its final bow before the dawn. His kisses, intruding upon her much needed rest though she in no way resented them. 

“I will return beloved.” He had nudged her scarred cheek with his nose, his voice a velvet breeze against the shell of her ear. “Best I leave before you wake fully and I can find no will to pry myself from this bed.” A peck against her mouth as she smiled sleepily. “There are too many enticements to stay.” 

_I wonder how many hours ago that was?_

The Lady of Tarth glanced around the illuminated room, even the sun seeming to lend a golden hue upon her world. 

_Be it a trick of my mind or be it actuality, one way or another, life seems to be a garden now, where before the land was barren._

_Hope and promise change the glint and everything is viewed differently through a newly made lover’s eyes…._

She blushed slightly, covering her hand with her face. Moving the covers to conceal the spots of her Maiden’s blood. 

_I_ _am Jaime’s… I am blessed. I am coupled with the owner of my heart. It is very few women who can lay claim to such._

_He is a gift and I will treasure him. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New…._

“You’re awake.” He had opened the chamber door softly and she thrilled at the verdant orbs peeking in to look at her. 

“I am.” Lifting both arms she invited him to her and the lion beamed as he was surrounded by long speckled limbs and cinnamon dusted shoulders. He nipped his way along their breadth, eliciting a squeal and playful squirm as he wrestled her to the mattress. 

“Don’t distract me Wench-” He had her pinned, his cat-like grin staring down at her, victorious and playful. Licking her lips she felt the flutters of anticipation build within, waiting for a repeat performance of the previous evening. Wanting the feel of him inside her again. 

“I have something to show you.” 

“-One would think after last night you had nothing left to reveal to me.”

“Do not be so sure My Lady… I may have but one hand but I have many tricks up my sleeve.” He kissed her once and winked. Handing her a folded parchment and resting his chin in the ravine betwixt her small breasts. The expectant expression he wore piqued her curiosity, especially considering whatever this document contained seemingly outweighed the prospect of more intercourse. 

Holding the page aloft she unfurled its contents, her blue spheres wider than oceans as she read. 

“Jaime… you have renounced your position from the Kingsguard. You are no longer Lord Commander….I don’t know what to say…” 

He shrugged. “King Tommen is a good boy, he will sign whatever is placed in front of him. Trusting lad. I made several copies and have ensured they will be delivered into the appropriate hands. He gave them his seal without a moment’s pause – just like the letter I sent with you on your travels.” 

“But your post- what about when the Council finds out?” 

“I intend to be well away by then.” 

She worried at her lip, nearly splitting it anew. “My love this is monumental – I know you have felt yourself unworthy for all these years but to give up your position like this…. To take your place in the Kingsguard in the first instance you had to renounce your titles. What provisions are made for their return? Your sister will surely be furious and unlikely to reinstate that which you are due….” 

“Don’t overthink it.” He stroked her cheek with his index finger. “I am happy. For the fist time in my life. I am free. To do what I wish, with whom I wish it.” 

Brienne caught his stare, holding it firm, sapphires brimming with affection and reassurance. “I love you. Titles or no titles. White cloak or red or none. Jaime you’re all I want.” 

“And you’re all I want. This way we can be together.” 

She nodded, bottom lip quivering, chest near to bursting at the seams. “Where will we go? What will we do?” 

“Well…” He picked up her left hand, toying with her fingers one by one. Lingering deliberately on her ring finger. “…. First I thought we could get married. If it pleases you.” 

Her head bobbed up and down more vigorously as the tears began to fall. “Yes.” She swiped them away with the back of her right hand. “It pleases me very much.” 

Brienne heard him release the breath he had been holding, fearing a negative answer. The happiness exuding from his aura as he received her response unable to be contained. 

“Our order is a little out –“ He chatted happily. “-It would seem we had the bedding before the wedding but when have we ever been conventional?”

“That much is true.” 

“So we wed. Today or tomorrow. The sooner the better.” 

“And then?” Her life stretched out before her, infinite in its possibilities. All with the man she adored beyond comprehension at her side.

“We wander. Sansa Stark is still out there – Arya as well. We have honour to uphold, lives to alter. History to shape. In Westeros, Essos and even further still if we wish…” Jaime released her finger and placed his hand out flat. “Will you come with me My Lady?”

She fit her palm against his own, speckled digits clasping his perfect skin. A unique mix of their own concocting, half a handshake between Knights and half a gallant Lord, taking his Ladies’ hand.

“To the ends of the Earth.” She avowed. “and what lies beyond.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you once again to anyone who took the time to read and comment.  
> It really means a lot to me and always makes me smile. :) 
> 
> I continue to work on Braime writing projects daily, they consume my life and heart.  
> I have a wide collection of fics already posted here on Ao3, so please check them out!  
> Also, in staying true to my mission to write a tale for every special occasion, next week I will be posting my Westerosi equivalent of 'Easter' fic - stay tuned! 
> 
> Stay safe and well fellow Braime shippers. <3 Madelyn


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